Halfbreed
by DaystarsMom
Summary: Companion piece to Ep. 26 - After Lutenberg, Conrad faces the bleak prospect of life in a Shin Makoku that still fears and mistrusts those with human blood. Angst early; road trip, baseball, and beer in later chaps. Complete. R&R, please.
1. Aftermath

**Title:** Halfbreed  
**Author:** DaystarsMom  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairings: **ConradxJulia; maybe ConradxYozak if you squint really hard  
**Disclaimer:** Good grief, it's _fanfiction_. Of course it's Not Mine. Do people really need to be told this?

**Notes:** I'm expecting this to be 6 or 7 chapters. It's basically a companion piece to Episode 26, following Conrad from just post-Lutenberg through Yuri's first day in Shin Makoku. So there are enormous spoilers for Episode 26. Also spoilers for the Boston Red Sox 1988-89 seasons in later chapters.

Onward.

------

**Halfbreed**

By DaystarsMom

Chapter 1: Aftermath

The field infirmary smelled of blood, sweat, and herbs. Even in the dim light and with one eye covered in bandages, Conrart could see that more than half of the beds were empty. Most of the time, he remembered not to look. He needed no reminder of the men he had lost at Lutenberg; they haunted his dreams already. His men; his failure. He could have done more, surely. To lead his regiment into battle without training, without proper weapons or armor, without a medical unit standing by...

He turned his head on the thin pillow, welcoming the pain the movement caused. Any distraction was welcome, even pain. Without distractions, thoughts of medical units might lead to thoughts of that other loss, the one that would, alone, have been unbearable under any circumstances.

_Julia._

They didn't know he knew she was dead. He had been out cold when at last Yozak hauled him into a temporary medical station far behind the lines, and he had remained unconscious for most of the time the healers spent desperately trying to save his life. But some evil fortune had roused him just when the messenger arrived with the bad news of Lord Brischella's disastrous failure on the battlefield, and the worse news from the medical unit attached to the area – _Lady Suzanna Julia Von Wincott overextended herself healing the survivors, and died._ They didn't know he'd heard. And they couldn't know that the hushed words had been merely a confirmation for him, not a surprise. Long before the messenger arrived, Conrart had known that it was she, not he, who would not return alive from these battles.

Because he had been the one who'd killed her.

His hand crept up to close around the blue pendant she had given him the night before he left. "To bring you luck and protect you," she had said, but it was Julia who had been his luck and Julia who had protected him at the cost of her own life. He'd felt her presence and her healing power radiating from the pendant during the hours – or was it days? – of the nightmarish trek to safety that had followed Lutenberg. She had supported and sustained him, holding his death at bay despite the other demands on her abilities. And then, just before he and Yozak had stumbled into the village at last, he'd felt one final gentle pulse of healing, and afterwards...nothing. She had given the last of her power, the last of her strength, to keep him alive, and doing it had destroyed her.

Now, more often than not, he wanted to follow her into death. It would not be difficult. His wounds were terrible, and healing slowly. He only had to stop holding on to life, and he would slip away. All that kept him from doing so was the impossibility of wasting Julia's sacrifice. She had wanted him to live; very well, he would live, though there was no joy for him in doing so. Stubbornly, he clung to life, while the healers worked and debated and eventually returned him to Covenant Castle for better care than a field hospital could provide.

Shortly after they removed the bandages covering his left eye, Gisela told him of Julia's death. Conrart listened with distant politeness, then sat staring at the blue pendant for a long time. Part of him wanted to throw it away, or better yet hammer into powder the link that had allowed Julia to throw her life away for a worthless half-human who couldn't even keep his own men alive. But it was all he had of her, and all he ever would have now, and he could not give it up.

By then, it was too late to slide easily into death merely by letting go of life, though he was by no means fully healed. Sometimes, he found himself wishing he had given up while he had the chance. The prospect of continuing on alone for perhaps another three or four hundred years chilled him to the bone. If Julia were alive, even belonging to someone else, he could have borne it, but a future without her anywhere in it was too terrible for him to contemplate. Since the past was too painful to remember and the present was filled with grief and unpleasant reminders, he spent most of his time trying not to think at all.

Then Yozak came to visit. One glance as the door opened was enough to tell Conrart why his friend and subordinate had not come sooner. A heavy cast covered Yozak's left arm all the way to the fingertips. Bandages swathed most of his right arm, and wrapped his head as well. Conrart looked away quickly, knowing that there were more bandages under the loose tunic. He braced himself for the inevitable reproaches. He was, after all, the incompetent commander responsible for Yozak's injuries, as well as the deaths of so many of their companions.

But Yozak surprised him. His first words were not criticism or blame, but gossip about Adelbert Von Grantz. Still, Conrart couldn't look at him. He felt Yozak's eyes on him, and waited. What came next was a reproach of sorts, but not the one he had been expecting.

"Don't you go checking out on me," Yozak told him with a hint of his normal ebullience. "I didn't drag you all the way from the battlefield for you to die now."

Conrart's eyes widened, and he looked up at last, to see the door close behind his friend. As he sat frozen, the door opened, and Yozak stuck his head in once more. "Don't you forget, my friend – there _are_ people who would mourn your death." Yozak winked almost cheerfully, then left for real.

Conrart stared blindly at the closed door. How could Yozak worry about him, after the way he'd failed at Lutenberg? For that had been worry, Yozak-style; they'd known each other long enough for Conrart to recognize his friend's peculiar way of expressing concern. He pondered the question for hours, so distracted that he ate more of his evening meal than usual. This prompted a pleased smile from the orderly who came to remove the tray. Seeing the smile, Conrart wondered if, perhaps, there were others who were genuinely concerned for his well-being.

Yozak came again the next day, and the day after, each time staying a little longer, though all he talked of was castle gossip. It didn't seem to bother him that Conrart seldom responded, and then only in monosyllables. Little by little, the cheerful irrelevancies drew Conrart out of his numb misery, until finally he interrupted Yozak in mid-sentence.

"Yozak, why in Shinou's name would I care what the odds are in the maids' betting pool on Gwendal's love life?"

"I thought you might want to put some money in," Yozak replied unrepentantly. "Since if anyone is in a good position to get inside information on the subject, you are."

Even a chuckle still made his injured ribs ache. "If you think Gwendal consults me about his love life, you're far off. Why are the maids betting on such a thing, anyway?"

"Because betting on your mother's love life is too easy?"

Conrart choked back a laugh, winced, and threw Yozak a reproachful look. Yozak merely grinned; then, in a softer tone, he added, "Welcome back, Captain."

-----

Next: Chapter 2: The Lion of Lutenberg


	2. The Lion of Lutenberg

**Chaper 2: The Lion of Lutenberg**

In the days that followed, Conrart had other visitors. His mother was strangely subdued, despite her obvious joy at his return; that alone told him how near he had come to not returning at all. Gwendal marched in, his ferocious frown easing only when he saw Conrart's improvement for himself. Even Wolfram came, though he made a point of saying that he'd merely wanted to acknowledge the hero of Lutenberg, not to visit some filthy human who was no brother of his, thankyouverymuch. The handful of blue flowers he left behind rather spoiled the effect of his rant, but Conrart would never embarrass his prickly younger brother by pointing that out. Besides, he was far too bemused by the notion that _anyone_ would consider him a hero.

He was even more taken aback a few days later, when Yozak informed him, with barely suppressed glee, of the impromptu titles that had been bestowed on him by the troops and the common folk.

"They're calling me _what?_"

"Come on, Captain; I know you heard me. There's nothing wrong with your ears," Yozak replied.

"But it's ... it's absurd!"

Yozak tilted his chin toward the ceiling in a blatant mockery of deep thought. "What, you don't like either of them? Myself, I think 'the Lutenberg Patriot' has a pleasant ring, though 'the Lion of Lutenberg' has alliteration going for it."

"Yozak!"

"Give it up, Captain." Yozak leaned back, balancing his chair on its two rear legs. "You can't keep people from calling you a hero, so you might as well enjoy it." His smile bent slightly. "You have to admit, it's better than 'filthy traitor' or 'half-human scum.'"

The bitter undertone in his friend's voice kept Conrart from pursuing the subject. It wasn't like Yozak – at least, it wasn't like the Yozak he'd known before Lutenberg. Still, he wasn't completely sure the names weren't just another one of the redhead's jokes until Gwendal's second visit to the sickroom. Knowing that Gwendal's position as commander of the army must take precedence over his generally-well-hidden brotherly concern, Conrart had prepared himself for a reprimand. Instead, he found himself being commended.

"No one could have done better," Gwendal told him firmly when he objected. "The Battle of Lutenberg was devastating for _both_ sides, and that is what finally convinced the humans to agree to a cease-fire." He hesitated, then added, "It was also enough to persuade the Ten Aristocrats to place some restraints on the Regent's actions."

Conrart nodded, unsmiling. He heard what his brother was not saying: that the cease-fire and any limits on Stoffel's power were unlikely to keep Shin Makoku from facing more such battles in the future. Delay was the best they could hope for – time to heal their wounds and prepare for the next war. _And the next, and the next_. After the destruction at Lutenberg, no peace could hope to last for long. Too many on both sides were eager for revenge. For the first time, he was almost glad that Julia had not lived to see this. She had believed completely in peace for both mazoku and humans; he could not have stood seeing that faith crushed by the cold reality they faced.

That night, he woke sweating from dreams of fire and blood and the deaths of all those he loved but could not protect. The dreams continued, all the long, slow days of his recovery, turning despair to a cold stone pressing constantly against his heart. The bitterness came after, when he had grown strong enough to resume his duties...and to hear the whispers that followed him wherever he went. _Filthy human. Can't trust one of them. Worthless human scum, they'll turn on you in a minute. Halfbreed._ To his face, he was the Lion of Lutenberg, hero of the war; behind his back, nothing had changed. He understood Yozak better now. All the sweat and pain they had been through, all those men who had gone to their deaths hoping to prove their loyalty at last to the country that neither wanted nor trusted them ... all wasted.

Even Gwendal thought nothing of referring to the "treacherous humans" in tones of hatred, as if no human anywhere could ever be trusted. Sometimes Conrart wondered how long it would be before Gwendal, like Wolfram and Stoffel, decided that Conrart's human blood outweighed everything else, even the bonds of family.

Death in battle seemed the only possible escape from the intolerable suspicion, and Conrart's one fear became the dread that he would not be trusted enough to fight in the next war. Why should anyone trust him, when so many days he did not trust himself? He hid his doubts and fears behind an expressionless mask, and forced himself to fulfill with meticulous care every duty asked of him, while each day the despair and bitterness grew and his heart died a little more.

And then came the summons from the Shinou Temple.

Next: Chapter 3 – Bottled Future


	3. Bottled Future

3 – Bottled Future

When Ulrike told Conrart what his mission was to be, he was stunned. Shinou wanted _him_ to take charge of the soul of the next Demon King? Before he thought, all the poisonous doubts that he knew would occur instantly to every full-blooded mazoku came boiling out of his own mouth. Trust a half-blood with so important a mission? What could they be thinking?

But Ulrike only looked at him calmly and reiterated her command: that he, Conrart Weller, take charge of this soul, and fulfill the Great One's will or not, as he saw fit. And then she stunned him further with the revelation that the soul was Julia's – and that she, too, had trusted him with her future.

Beside the impossible fact of that triple trust – Shinou's, Ulrike's, and above all, Julia's – the other details of the mission hardly seemed startling at all. Traveling to another world to oversee the birth of the next Demon King was far less improbable than relying on a battered half-human to carry out such plans. Conrart left the temple in a state of confusion, to spend a day arranging for his long absence.

His preparations mainly involved packing his few belongings for storage. The temple had already informed Gwendal in his official capacity; no one else needed to know more than that Conrart would be away on a lengthy mission. He took a brief, private farewell of his mother, assuring her repeatedly that he would be safe doing the temple's errands. He could see that she did not quite believe him, but it was the best he could do.

Then he went looking for Yozak. He found him in the barracks, cleaning his gear, and gave him the news.

"An extended mission for the Shinou Temple, huh?" Yozak said. "Well, at least it sounds like a change of pace. How long?"

"At least a year and a half," Conrart replied. "Maybe as much as three years."

Yozak nodded. "That's extended, all right." His mouth twisted, and Conrart could practically see the words he wasn't saying: _They needed someone expendable, so they picked a half-blood. Somebody who won't be missed if things go wrong._ "Have a good trip, Captain. Wherever you're going." _Good luck. You'll need it._

"Yozak..." Conrart hesitated. There were things he didn't want to say in so many words, either. "Don't do anything too stupid while I'm gone." _Be here still, when I get back_.

"Don't worry about me, Captain." Yozak looked away, then back with a poor attempt at his usual grin. "But if you expect me to cover your job here for three years, you're going to owe me at least a month of free drinks afterward." _You're the one that needs worrying about, Captain. You damn well better _come_ back, no matter what kind of suicide mission they're sending you on._

"Two weeks," Conrart said firmly. _I'll be back._ "They aren't giving me hazard pay for this, and the way you drink, that's all I can afford." _It's not as dangerous as you're thinking._

Yozak stared, then grinned more naturally. "If the temple is that cheap, I suppose two weeks will have to do. But it had better be _good_ beer." _If you say so. But it had still better be _good_ beer._

There was no one else for Conrart to take leave of. He went back to the temple, and sat staring at the glowing orb within the fat glass bottle. _Julia's soul_. He could feel a reassuring warmth from it, and if his heart had not already been broken it would have shattered at this evidence of her continued faith in him, in humans, in peace. How could a bottled soul know of the deaths, the corrosive hatred, and the fear that had made a mockery of words like "peace" and "trust" and "co-existence?"

He could not even hope that when she became Demon King things would change. Even if her new incarnation somehow retained her belief in harmony, humans and mazoku had proven that they could never live together. Nothing could change that. Almost, he said as much to that tranquil sphere in the little bottle. Almost. But something in that serene glow kept him from speaking his despair aloud, though he was more than half certain that the soul would not be able to hear or comprehend his words anyway.

The sound of soft footsteps behind him made him turn. Ulrike stood in the doorway holding a stack of folded cloth. "Suzanna Julia Von Wincott freely accepted the will of the Great One," Ulrike said gently. "I will not tell you not to grieve, but take comfort in the knowledge that she chose this fate, and chose you to be the guardian of her soul."

"Chose me – Is that why..." _Is that why she exhausted herself to keep me alive? Is that why she died?_

Though he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, Ulrike seemed to know what he meant. She shook her head. "You will be needed in the future to serve the next Demon King, Lord Weller. Suzanna Julia knew that, just as she knew it was her time to move on."

_To become the next Demon King._ Conrart nodded dully. He understood duty; it was almost all he had left. A tiny, nameless voice in the back of his mind wondered briefly whether he could be proud to serve a king who had Julia's soul, but he squashed the thought almost as soon as he recognized it. Duty had nothing to do with the merit of the one it served. Wishing for a worthy king was the road to more disappointment.

In that moment, he almost hated Julia for doing this to him. For placing her duty and Shinou's will and the presumed good of Shin Makoku above her life, for using his hurts to facilitate her passage from this world, for leaving him behind with nothing but duty and false hope and the ashes of the dream she had died for.

Ulrike watched him with wise eyes, and handed him the strange clothes she carried. "Please put these on," she said. "I will wait outside."

Conrart could only nod. When he had donned the unfamiliar shirt and slacks, he tucked the bottle into the pocket over his heart and opened the door to meet Ulrike. She smiled, and escorted him to the main hall of the temple for the ceremony that would send him to the other world. Earth, she said it was called.

Next: 4 – Road Trip


	4. Road Trip

4 – Road Trip

The passage to Earth left Conrart dizzy and nauseated, but not so much so that he did not scan his surroundings at once for possible threats. Earth was hot and bright and empty, very like the dry plains in the western part of Shin Makoku. The only signs of habitation were some tall wooden poles strung with wires and the road he'd landed next to. Perhaps other areas were more welcoming, he thought without much interest.

A plume of dust rolled toward him down the road, and he stiffened. A strange vehicle halted in front of him. It reminded him of one of Anissina's inventions, which made him wary, but the man who emerged was a double-black mazoku. Nevertheless, Conrart backed away. There were mazoku who would not hesitate to correct what they saw as the temple's folly in trusting a half-human with the soul of the next Demon King, no matter what Shinou said. But the dark-skinned double-black pulled a bottled soul from one of his pockets, and Conrart relaxed. A fellow soul-guardian was more likely to help with his mission than hinder it.

Two days later, Conrart almost wished he had run off into the desert instead of accepting the guidance of José Rodruigez. Oh, José had been very helpful, even if he had messed up the identification cards – he didn't really mind being Conrad instead of Conrart for the brief time he would be on Earth. It was just that José _talked_ all the time, mainly about strange Earth customs that meant nothing to Conrart. NASA? Manga? Tacos? Soccer scores? Star Trek? And if all that wasn't confusing enough, some of the things he claimed about Earth sounded flat-out impossible. Humans and mazoku, living peacefully side by side?

At first, Conrart simply didn't believe it. But when José took him out for a meal at a place he called "a great little Tex-Mex bar," Conrart couldn't help noticing that at least a quarter of the people there, patrons and table-servers alike, were mazoku. When he commented on the fact, José only shrugged. "Are they? I hadn't noticed."

Conrart stared. The division between humans and mazoku was a basic fact of life. How could anyone just _not notice_? But over and over, on the long drive from Texas to New York City, Conrart saw the same thing happening: Mazoku and humans living together and working together as if the differences between them didn't matter. As if they didn't even realize there _was_ a difference.

And then on the last day of the journey, in a small town surrounded by green hills, the two men stopped at a convenience store. As they walked in, the mazoku woman behind the counter looked up. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned, and Conrart stiffened. He knew that look. He'd been on the receiving end often enough before. _Halfbreed. Filthy human._ So much for José's claims. Conrart hadn't realized until that moment just how much he'd hoped the things José had said were true.

But it was José whose every move the woman watched, and José whom she treated with barely-concealed dislike. To Conrart, she was civil enough, if not precisely warm. As they left the store, he could not keep from shaking his head in puzzlement.

"Something bothering you?" José asked as they climbed back into the truck.

"That woman – " Conrart said, and paused, trying to find words. "She's mazoku," he said finally. "But she treated me as if I were the mazoku and you as if you were the halfbreed."

"Oh." José shook his head. "You certainly are stubborn when you have an idea about something. Is it really that bad for humans in Shin Makoku? Never mind; I don't think I really want to know. Look, whatever you are there, _here_ you are Conrad Weller, who's just as good as anyone else. And that's how people will treat you."

"Then why did she act that way toward you?"

"She doesn't like Latinos, that's all." José pulled out of the parking lot and started back toward the highway.

"Latinos?"

"Mexicans, South Americans, Cubans, people of Spanish origin," José said, as if that explained everything. "Like me."

"Like you," Conrart echoed, still puzzled. "But you're both mazoku."

José sighed. "Just because mazoku and humans get along here, it doesn't mean there isn't any prejudice. It's just based on different things. Nationality, skin color, things like that."

"So it's still the same," Conrart said, half to himself.

"Oh, it's not the same at all," José contradicted him. "Things are much better than they used to be. Forty years ago, a lot of discrimination was legal here and most people just accepted it. Now, it's not and most people don't. This is the first time we've run into anything this trip, isn't it?"

"Forty years?"

José misunderstood. "It's a long time, sure, but it wasn't easy. Real change takes a while."

Conrart nodded and fell silent. José respected his change of mood and let him think.

_Real change takes a while._

Forty years was no time at all, to a mazoku. Forty years ago, he'd been working his way up through the ranks of the army, determined not to use his mother's influence to ease his way. The taunts and sneers of his "comrades" had taken every bit of his formidable self-control to ignore. But then, he'd heard those same taunts and sneers all his life; that was why and how he'd learned the formidable self-control in the first place.

And in a mere forty years, these people had gone from hatred and intolerance to something remarkably like acceptance. It obviously wasn't perfect yet, but still...

_It doesn't matter how things are here. It could never happen in Shin Makoku._ Conrart knew that as well as he knew his own name. Here on Earth, he might be Conrad Weller, the equal of any human or mazoku, but when he returned home he would be Captain Lord Conrart Weller once more, the man whose half-human, half-mazoku heritage made both sides class him as deceitful, dishonest, and untrustworthy by his very nature. Nothing he could do would change that.

He touched the breast pocket where the little soul-bottle lay. He would do best, he decided, to focus on his mission and ignore these tantalizing glimpses of another way to live.

Next: 5 - Invitation


	5. Invitation

5 - Invitation

Conrart's first meeting with the Demon King of Earth shook him more than he would admit even to himself. Bob radiated power – not just majutsu, but a personal charisma and leadership that went far beyond mere magic. He found himself hoping that this man would personally take charge of raising the new Demon King. Surely the result would be a strong leader, well worth following.

Much to Conrart's disappointment, Bob chose one of his subordinates to be the father of the next Demon King. And Shoma Shibuya did not make a good first impression – he sounded henpecked, and seemed far too easygoing to give any child the kind of strength the new Demon King would surely need.

But if Conrart's life had taught him one thing, it was that the will of the Demon King must be followed, however foolish or ill-advised it seemed and whatever the cost to the king's followers. So he kept his doubts to himself, even after Bob left the restaurant and Shoma himself expressed similar reservations.

But then Shoma blew up at him, over, of all things, Conrart's _indifference_. "When you're in front of my wife or kid, if you show that lousy attitude even _once_, I won't let my kid go to the other world no matter _how_ much you plead!" Shoma declared, slamming his fit against the table. "And believe me, I'm serious! You got that?"

For a frozen moment, they stared at each other across the restaurant table; then Shoma reverted to the laid-back person he'd first seemed. As if nothing had happened, he summoned a waiter and ordered champagne for two. And put it on Bob's tab without a moment's hesitation. That startled Conrart almost as much as the strength of Shoma's outburst. Which, it occurred to him, had been driven by Shoma's desire to protect a child who hadn't even been conceived yet. Perhaps there was more to Shoma Shibuya than first met the eye.

Halfway through the first glass of champagne, Conrart made up his mind. He took advantage of a pause in Shoma's conversation – really, the man talked even more than José did – and said, "Very well. I accept your offer."

"Huh?"

"To visit your town ... 'ball park,' I think you called it."

"Great!" Shoma smiled enthusiastically. "How about Friday afternoon? The Red Sox are playing the Yankees, and I know there are still tickets left because I checked this morning."

"Fine." Conrart had no idea what Shoma was babbling about, but he didn't really care. Shoma had piqued his interest. Despite his earlier disavowal, he now found himself wanting to know more about the man who would become the father of his king. This 'ball game' would be an opportunity to learn.

"It should be a good game," Shoma went on. "The Sox are seven and three against the Yankees this year, but the Yankees have the home field advantage." He leaned forward confidentially. "I'm a Sox fan, myself. They're going to the playoffs this year for sure, wait and see."

For the rest of the evening, Shoma ran on about the Red Sox and the upcoming game and something called the World Series, throwing out all sorts of numbers that were completely meaningless to Conrart. "Errors" seemed intuitively obvious, but what was the difference between "hits" and "runs"? And what was an "RBI"?

By the time they finished the champagne – most of which Shoma drank himself – Conrart was beginning to regret his impulsive acceptance. For a game played merely for entertainment, baseball sounded a lot more complicated than he'd expected. And Conrart didn't have time for more complications. Still, it would only take a few hours, and there was no graceful way to back out now.

----

RBI -- Run Batted In. A run scored while a player is at-bat (though not necessarily scored by the batter). Very important player statistic, if you're a baseball fan. If you're not, don't worry about it.

Next: 6 – Baseball and Bat Wings


	6. Baseball and Bat Wings

6 – Baseball and Bat Wings

Even after all the strange things Conrart had already seen on Earth, Yankee Stadium was overwhelming. It covered as much ground as Covenant Castle, and its three decks held more people than the castle and the city around it put together. And every one of those people seemed to be talking at once; the noise was incredible. Conrart looked around uneasily. The last time he'd seen this many people in one place, he had been on a battlefield and half of them had been trying to kill him.

As Shoma led the way to their seats, they passed several large, loud-voiced men selling things. One had a box full of small triangular flags on sticks; another had something that looked like clouds of colored cotton. Shoma stopped a man whose case was half-full of plastic cups of beer, and bought two.

"Here you go, Conrad," he said, handing over one of the cups. "You buy the next round."

Conrart sipped cautiously at the beer. It wouldn't have met Yozak's standards, he was sure, but at least it was cold. He followed Shoma to a row of plastic seats that were, as far as he could tell, identical to all the other rows of plastic seats, and took the one Shoma indicated.

"It's a shame the traffic was so bad," Shoma said. "If we'd gotten here a little earlier, you could have seen Monument Park, but they close it forty-five minutes before the game starts."

"That's all right."

"At least we made it in time for the opening pitch," Shoma went on. "Well, I couldn't let you miss that! Not at your first baseball game!"

Conrart agreed again, wondering what had possessed him to come here. Shoma didn't seem to notice his abstraction; he launched into an explanation of the coming game that lost Conrart within three sentences. After a while, everyone stood up while someone sang into a crackly loudspeaker. Then most of them sat down and the game started.

Half an hour later, Conrart had decided that baseball was mainly about standing around waiting for something to happen. The only people who seemed to be doing much were the ones throwing and catching the ball, plus whoever was trying to hit it with the stick – the bat, he corrected himself. Some of Shoma's commentary was getting through. Still, there was something very...civilized about this game. Something almost elegant. Julia would have liked it, he thought.

A small boy clambered across them, waving frantically at one of the vendors. There were a lot of children in the stadium with their parents, Conrart noticed. It occurred to him that any child of Shoma Shibuya's was highly likely to inherit his passion for this game, and he began paying closer attention. If the next Demon King was going to be interested in baseball, _somebody_ in Shin Makoku should have at least a passing familiarity with the game.

Shoma seemed to be thinking along similar lines. "You know, I can't wait to bring my kids to a game," he said. "I hope Miko doesn't decide baseball is too frivolous an interest for a Demon King."

"Miko?" Conrart said.

"My wife." Shoma raised his beer in a silent toast, then took a deep swallow. "She gets these _ideas_," he confided.

"Ideas?"

"Like, she thinks mazoku are supposed to have wings," Shoma said. "But she can never decide whether they're supposed to be angel wings or bat wings. She was really disappointed when our boy Shori was born with no wings at all, even though I _told_ her–"

"Wait, wings?" Conrart stared at Shoma in complete puzzlement. "Why would she think that mazoku have wings? _She_ doesn't have wings, does she?"

"Of course not. But she's human, not mazoku, and she, well, she got this _idea_ about mazoku having wings." Shoma shook his head. "It was the first thing she asked me, when I told her I was a mazoku – 'What happened to your wings?' I _told_ her–"

Conrart's ears shut off. Mentally, he replayed what Shoma had just said. Then he replayed it again. No, he wasn't wrong. He hadn't misheard. There was no mistake.

_The next Demon King was going to have a human mother._

The thought bounced back and forth in a mind suddenly empty of anything else, while its owner sat stunned, absorbing the implications. The next Demon King would be half human, half mazoku. Like the men who had died at Lutenberg. Like Yozak. Like him. A despised and mistrusted halfbreed...but who among mazoku could despise or mistrust the Demon King himself?

And the child would be raised here, on Earth, where Julia's dream of peace between humans and mazoku was already a taken-for-granted reality. Where he wouldn't learn to mistrust other people – or himself – merely because some or all of their blood was human.

Maybe, just maybe, such a child would become a Demon King who could teach others that kind of trust.

Lord Conrart Weller was still half-afraid to admit even to having an idea with so much hope in it. Plain Conrad Weller, on the other hand, looked around the stadium at humans and mazoku sitting side by side, yelling and waving little flags in identical displays of support and excitement, and thought that a king who could bring even a fraction of this amity to Shin Makoku would be a king worth serving, with all he was, for all his life.

"Hey, Conrad!" Shoma's worried voice brought him out of his daze. "You all right?"

"I'm...fine."

"You look a little pale. Are you sure you're not feeling sick? Come to think of it, you didn't look too great the other day at the restaurant, either. You know, if there's something wrong with your health, we have really good doctors here."

"Really, I'm fine." Conrad looked up, and smiled. "In fact, I think I've never felt better. Now, remind me again how that 'foul ball' thing works?"

----

In case you were wondering, the Red Sox won. And they made it to the playoffs, but not the World Series. That year.

Next: 7-A Reason To Carry On


	7. A Reason to Carry On

7-A Reason To Carry On

Conrad walked briskly up 65th street toward Central Park, enjoying the warm spring air in spite of the traffic roaring past. Living in New York for more than a year and a half had cemented the changes in him that had begun at that September baseball game. At least, he hoped it had cemented them. That was what he meant to find out this afternoon.

He'd been to several more baseball games with Shibuya – and quite a few without him – but except for sharing a cab with Miko on the day of the baby's birth, he'd kept his distance from the rest of the Shibuya family. He had duties waiting in Shin Makoku, and it would be hard enough to go back to them without creating additional ties to this world. Though he couldn't help hoping that Ulrike would let him know how the Red Sox were doing from time to time. They'd only been third in the league the previous year, but this year looked more hopeful...

Conrad shook his head. Yuri Shibuya, the next Demon King, was nine months old and, by all accounts, thriving. He'd received word yesterday that everything had been prepared for his return. His mission here was finished.

He could have simply filled the bathtub in the apartment Bob had provided for him and stepped into it, but that hadn't felt like a fitting way to end his time here. Besides, he wanted to see the child for himself, just once.

It was foolish to expect anything more than babble and a cute baby smile from an infant. Conrad knew that. Still, he couldn't help hoping for...something. A whisper of hope, a dream, a hint of the king the child would become – anything he could use to keep cold despair at bay for all the long years of the boy's growing up.

For Conrad might have changed over these many months, but he knew that Shin Makoku would be the same when he returned. He also knew that he did not possess the strength to face it alone. The sneers and slurs, the hatred, the tension, the constant threat of war – they had almost broken him, after Lutenberg. If not for this mission, he _would_ have broken.

Now that he was going back, he was...afraid. For months, he had been deliberately storing up images of the men and mazoku of this world, hoping that the memory of their easygoing cooperation would be a shield against what he knew waited for him at home. And it wasn't going to be enough. He could feel it in his bones.

Ahead he could see Miko Shibuya dozing on a park bench, the sun bright on her brown hair. He waited until he was certain she was asleep and her eldest son was chasing his ball down the walking path. Then he approached the baby carriage.

The round-faced infant smiled up at Conrad, showing off a single tooth. He was squinting, but Conrad could still see that both his eyes and hair were black. _Double black_. It was a good omen. "Your Highness," Conrad whispered softly.

The baby gurgled and waved his arms. _Stay well, little one,_ Conrad thought. _May the coming years be wonderful and happy for you, until you come into your kingdom._ He looked at the baby again. He could find no trace of Julia there, but that was as it should be. This child, this happy, innocent baby, was himself, and Conrad's future king. It wasn't enough, it still wasn't enough, but perhaps he could _make_ it be enough. Perhaps if...

Black eyes opened wide, meeting Conrad's gaze with the force of a sword blow. Conrad's own eyes widened. A faint shout echoed in the back of his mind, as if coming from a great distance in space or time – a grown man's voice, angry and immeasurably determined...but the words it spoke were not a threat.

_I will protect the mazoku, this world, and everyone on it! Do you hear me? EVERYONE!_

"Wha—"

"Glah glurb," said the infant Demon King, and held out his little yellow duck.

Conrad stared. As if mesmerized, he reached down and took the toy. The baby did not resist, as Conrad might have expected. An infant of nine months was surely too young to give away a toy...but that voice...

A gentle warmth flowed into his fingers from the little duck, like and yet not like Julia's healing power. _Not Julia; Yuri._ His fingers tightened, and the duck squeaked. The baby laughed and waved. Conrad smiled shakily in return and backed away from the perambulator.

He had the reassurance he needed, his talisman against hatred and despair. He could return to Shin Makoku and wait for his king; perhaps he could even find ways to help the ordinary people who had lost so much in the war. He was certain Yuri would approve of that.

_Everyone_, the voice had said. _I will protect everyone._

A few minutes later, three children and a man selling ice cream bars saw a tall, brown-haired man holding a bright yellow rubber duck step into the duck pond and disappear. The ice cream vendor said nothing to anyone else. Who would have believed him? But the children's mother was very unhappy when the three of them returned home muddy and soaked to the skin from trying to dive to "somewhere else" through the duck pond.

Next: 8-Epilog


	8. Epilog

8-Epilog

"Uh – excuse me, sir," the young Demon King said, looking up at Conrad with a faintly puzzled expression. "But have we met somewhere before?"

Conrad hesitated. But the boy was already baffled enough by his abrupt transition to the demon world and the fight with Adelbert Von Grantz. Now was not the time for more confusing explanations. "No, not really," he replied.

Yuri studied him a moment longer, as if he wasn't quite sure he believed the answer. Then he smiled and nodded. Turning to Gunter, he said, "I still don't really understand where I am, but is there someplace I can get fresh clothes? Mine are...kinda yucky."

"Of course, Your Majesty!" Gunter said. "Come inside and allow me to tend your most noble self!" Still gushing, he shooed Yuri into the cottage the mazoku had appropriated for the night.

Conrad smiled to himself and turned away from the cottage. He would see to the men and the horses before he went in. It was his duty, and a few more minutes would make little difference to him. After nearly fifteen years, the king he had waited for and served in his heart had finally come. Now Conrad could serve him openly, for the rest of his life.

He needed nothing more.

----

Fin.


End file.
